The True Magic
by BarakTheSlayer
Summary: Harry has more power than he ever thought he would, of course what's the point in being the most powerful if you're stuck under a manipulative old fool's thumb? Rated M for themes UP FOR ADOPTION!


There were a lot of people outside number 4 Privet Drive on 31st august 1991, the day before Harry Potter was to start Hogwarts.

First there were the Dursleys, the residents of said house.

There were their neighbors, clamoring to cry in glee at what they were witnessing.

There were the police, questioning everyone in sight.

There were the firemen, trying to stop the unnatural fire that had enveloped the house, even though it was futile. The fire would only stop when there was nothing less but ash.

Not even the last person there could stop it. He was an old man with a white beard so long he could tuck it into his belt and he was wearing strange robes that looked totally out of place on the immaculate road that was Privet Drive. His name was Albus Dumbledore, and he was the greatest wizard of the age.

He may have looked calm on the outside but on the inside he was panicking.

_How did this happen? _

_The boy needed to stay there!_

_My plans, quite literally in ashes!_

_Wait a minute… WHERE IS THE BOY?_

Albus hurried over to the strangely impassive Dursleys, and introduced himself,"Hello Dursleys, I'm not sure if you remember me, my name is Albus Dumbledore, and I was wondering where your nephew was".

They hadn't had any reaction to his words, except for Petunia Dursley to softly say, "He's at his new house now, he left a few days ago. Please leave us, we don't want anything to do with your kind anymore, we did what you asked." They left immediately following her words.

Albus was blindsided to say the least. _New house? What house? _He hadn't any answers though; his only assumption could be Potter Manor. So he made his way there, he was still keyed into the wards after all.

* * *

Potter Manor was a no go. The head house elf hadn't even seen a human since the Potters moved into hiding. Dumbledore was seriously getting mad now; he had no idea what to do with the boy once he found him. Of course, he couldn't send him back to the Dursleys as the wards were specifically around Privet Drive, but the boy couldn't live alone either, with no light wizard to guide him. Maybe the Longbottoms would be willing…

* * *

Harry Potter had a good life.

His 'relatives' learned to respect him once he discovered his true power at the age of 9. The dream world helped him learn about the power his true line had. The power of true magic.

There is no light or dark.

There are only the two polar opposites of magic and power.

White and black.

Life and death.

Heal and harm.

He could do it all.

It was _glorious._

No one was as powerful as Harry, and he knew that. He didn't revel in being the strongest, but boy did he revel in the strength he had. That power he felt when he burnt down number 4, was unlike anything, and it was a testament to his magic that even wizards couldn't put it out, or even tell what it was.

Of course, for such power, a regular wand just would not do. He remembered the look on Ollivanders face when he had tried this one wand. It was Holly and Phoenix feather, 11 inches, nice and supple. Now, it's charcoal.

His wand, he thought as he twirled it around with his fingers, was fantastic. 13 inches, made of two different woods. First, there was the wood of the life tree. The life tree was a unique tree in the UK. It was a small sapling, when one of the founders of Hogwarts sent a huge amount of healing magic into it, so anyone who came into contact with the wood felt like the very essence of life was flowing through them. The other wood, like the life wood, was unique, but only because Harry sent some of his power into it, deaths spell to be exact. Harry named it deathwood, though it was originally Yew.

His cores were a mix as well. He had crystallized phoenix tears that was crushed and dissolved into Basilisk venom, making an almost neutral, but very magical liquid.

His wand handle was black, with crystalline blue for the rest of the length. The best part of a custom wand was there was no trace on it, so he tested it on the Dursleys house. He considered burning there house adequate revenge for 8 years of torture. The flare he sent at the house was the most powerful thing he'd ever done, and he loved it.

**A/N**

**whatcha think?**


End file.
